A Hotchner
by Amhran na bhFiann
Summary: Hotch learns about the death of a close family member.


A. Hotchner

**Summary:** Hotch learns about the death of a close family member.

A/N: I broke my ankle during training so now I'm on medical leave. Lots of time to write now.

* * *

At first glance, it looked like a plain, unassuming white envelope. But, a closer examination revealed some suspicious anomalies.

Handwritten in blue pen, the envelope was addressed simply to _A. Hotchner. _No first name and no honorific. Just _A. Hotchner _and his address. He carefully examined the handwriting for any clues to the identity of the author but the lines and loops were foreign to him.

There was no return address but the postage indicated that it had been sent from San Francisco.

His first thought was Agent Sam Cooper. He was a fellow agent who headed his own BAU team in San Francisco. But, his experience as a profiler told him the author was right handed and most likely female. That ruled Cooper out.

He scoured his brain for anyone else he knew that might be living in San Francisco but came up empty-handed.

It was suspicious.

He couldn't lie; sending the envelope to the lab for examination had crossed his mind. He knew he was overreacting but paranoia was something being an FBI agent had taught him over the years. Always looking over his shoulder, making sure his family and his team were safe. Never knowing if someone he put away finally could enact their revenge against him. It was better to be overcautious then let his guard down.

But still, he decided against it. It was a simple letter, albeit a suspicious simple letter to his paranoid mind. But, it was nevertheless still a simple letter.

Sitting down on the couch, he took out his pocket knife and carefully sliced the envelope open. The only content of the envelope was a single piece of folded white paper. Unfolding it, he began reading.

* * *

_Dear Mr A. Hotchner,_

_Please, let me explain._

_My name is Susan Montgomery. Seven years ago, I met Edward Montgomery. Three months later, we were a newly married couple honeymooning in Paris._

_Last year, Edward's health took a turn for the worse. The doctors diagnosed it as cancer. _

_While lying in bed one night, he told me about his son Greg Montgomery. He knew he didn't have long so he asked me to find him so he could see his son one last time. Unfortunately, Edward died four months ago._

_Nevertheless, I hired a private investigator and he found a name: A. Hotchner._

_And that brings me to you. My PI supplied me with your address. _

_If you are indeed Greg Montgomery, please write me back._

_Thank you,_

_Susan Montgomery_

* * *

He put the letter down. For the first time, he noticed the wetness on his cheeks.

His first feeling was one of guilt. Guilt at abandoning his family. Guilt at abandoning his father. As Edward Montgomery's son, he was expected to take over the family business after he retired. Instead, he left, without telling anyone where he was going. He changed his name and cultivated a new identity. Greg Montgomery, the neurotic pushover who constantly needed the approval of others became Aaron Hotchner, the stoic unit chief who could scare an average man by just looking at them.

He had originally planned on returning to life as Greg Montgomery after a few years but then he met Haley. Before he knew it, they were married and expecting a child. By then, it was too late. That option was gone.

Now his father was dead.

"Daddy, what's wrong?"

He looked up and saw Jack standing in the hallway. He must have heard him and woke up.

"It's nothing, Jack. Go back to bed." He didn't want to explain to his son why he was crying.

Jack stared at his father, seemingly unconvinced by his response. But, nevertheless, he turned around and walked back to his bedroom.

Hotch closed his eyes. He had promised himself that he would be a better father to Jack than Edward was to him. Edward was not the best father. He never hurt Greg per say but his absence in Greg's life had hurt him the most. Edward was a borderline alcoholic who cared more about his work than his only son. He would gladly send him to a sports camp halfway across the country over playing catch with him in the backyard. Yet, he was still his father.

Hotch looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It was 11pm. He'd probably still be awake. Sighing, he picked up his cell phone and called the first number.

"_Hotch? Why are you calling? We got a case?"_ Rossi sounded tired. He was likely on his way to bed.

"No…" Hotch paused, "Dave...I need to take a couple days off."

"_Is everything OK?" _Hotch could hear the worried tone of his friend's voice.

"I don't know...but I just need a couple days off to deal with some family stuff."

"_Of course. If you need to talk about it with anyone, I want to let you know I'm here."_

"Thanks Dave." He hung up before Rossi could say anything else.

* * *

Hotch watched the scenery pass by as he stared out the window of the taxi. Instead of admiring the unique San Francisco landscape though, he was lost in thought. A rare phonenom for Hotch.

After he had woke up, he immediately called Jessica to get her to watch Jack for the next couple days and booked a flight to San Francisco. Seven hours later and now, he was on his way to his old family home.

He wasn't sure why he had decided to come back. His father had passed away and he had no news about his mother. He would have been perfectly fine staying in DC as Aaron Hotchner. Yet, his father's widow had been desperate enough to hire a PI to track him down. He owed it to her to be here.

The taxi driver slowed down. Looking out the window, Hotch's heart started to race when he saw his boyhood home. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He was here.

He quickly paid the driver, knowing that he was getting a generous tip. He wanted to get this meeting over with as quickly as he could. Stepping out of the car, he walked over to the front door. Memories of his mother, pacing outside with a cigarette in hand whenever family were over, filled his mind. He wondered how she was doing.

He rang the doorbell. He could hear movement from behind the front door. It cracked open. An unfamiliar face in a maid's outfit peeked out. It wasn't Celia. She must have retired. "Hello sir. Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm looking for Susan Montgomery. Is she home?" Hotch responded.

"May I ask who you are?" she asked, sceptical of his intentions.

"Greg Montgomery," he replied. He recognised the name but the words felt foreign to his brain. He wasn't Greg Montgomery. He hadn't been Greg Montgomery for almost two decades.

She looked shocked. "You are Greg Montgomery? Please, please, come inside!" The maid gestured Hotch inside, guiding him to the all-too-familiar living room. "I will call Mrs Montgomery down right away," she said, before leaving the room.

Hotch looked around; the furniture was new and rearranged. He walked to the fireplace mantle. His father's chair, the one that used to sit in front of the fireplace, was absent. However, the fireplace and it's mantle hadn't changed. He recognised the smoking pipe placed on it as belonging to Thomas Jefferson. His mother had bought it at one of the many Saturday auctions she attended. Dharma had thought it belonged to his father.

"Greg?" a voice said from behind him.

Hotch turned around when he heard his former name. Standing in the doorway was an elderly woman. She reminded him of the elite socialites who would show up to his mother's cocktail parties. He wondered if they had known each other before Susan had married his father.

"You must be Susan," he responded. He stuck out his hand.

"Yes, I am. It's great to finally meet you Greg." Susan walked over and shook his hand. "You… you look just like your father."

The comparison caught Hotch off-guard. "I...I...I haven't heard that in a long time."

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? Please sit down," Susan said, gesturing towards the couch. The two of them sat down across from each other, with a coffee table between them. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee or tea?" she asked.

"No thanks," replied Hotch.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment; each waiting for the other to say something. Hotch often used silence as an interrogation technique. To fill the awkward void, a person starts speaking, sometimes accidentally revealing critical information they originally tried to hide. It was also a tactic used by journalist.

Hotch felt the awkwardness linger in the air. Finally, he caved in. He took a deep breath in. "How did you meet him? My father?" Hotch asked.

"Bingo night," Susan smiled, remembering the night.

"Bingo night?" He questioned.

She nodded. "He always loved Bingo."

"I can't imagine my father ever playing Bingo," he confessed. Then again, he barely knew his father. When he'd asked him who he was, who Edward was as a person, his interests, he could barely get anything out of him. It was Dharma who got him to talk.

"Father...how did he react when I left?" Hotch asked tentatively.

He watched as Susan's expression darkened. "At first, your father was angry that you left, which is expected from a father. But, deep down, I think he understood your decision. That's why he asked me to find you," Susan paused, "He loved you so much."

Hotch remained silent. Edward _loved _him.

"Edward knew that one day you would return. And now, you're here."

"Yeah…" Hotch trailed off.

"When he passed away, Edward left a large inheritance for Greg Montgomery.

"Ma'am...I'm not Greg Montgomery anymore."

"Don't be silly Greg. Of course, you are. Now, to transfer ownership to you, all you need is an affidavit confirming that you are Gregory Montgomery." Susan didn't notice Hotch's uncomfortableness. "Oh Greg, I hope you'll also consider heading Montgomery Industries again. That was one of Edward's wishes too. He wanted his son to come back. With all the family drama, I believe you were the only one he truly trusted."

Suddenly, it became all too much for him. He wasn't meant to go into the family business. No, he was an FBI agent; head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico. He'd given up too much to come back to his old life.

He couldn't be here anymore. He had to leave. This wasn't right.

He stood up. "I'm sorry I can't. It was nice meeting you but I have to get going now." Without another word, Aaron Hotchner stood up and walked out of the house. He was no longer Greg Montgomery.

Greg Montgomery was dead.


End file.
